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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26233306">echoes (to dust)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/justjoy/pseuds/presumenothing'>presumenothing (justjoy)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fma fics [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood &amp; Manga</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(aka al sees dead people: the au), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Ghosts, Humor, Post-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:34:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26233306</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/justjoy/pseuds/presumenothing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not every dead person that he sees. Resembool had been empty of them, even in the cemetery; Al doesn’t even consciously piece it together until they start heading out to the cities again, and then it still takes some time before he’s certain that it’s not some trick of his imagination, of the way he still wakes up feeling three inches to the left of his body sometimes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alphonse Elric &amp; Maes Hughes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fma fics [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882300</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>echoes (to dust)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>me: ……au where al starts being able to see ghosts after getting his body back from the gate</p>
<p>several people: YES</p>
<p>me: ok then</p>
<p>- </p>
<p>(in which i finally remember to post this to ao3. mandatory tw for death as a result of… uh, canon? also, in case the tags didn't give it away, maes hughes is very much Not Alive in this one)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s not every dead person that he sees. Resembool had been empty of them, even in the cemetery; Al doesn’t even consciously piece it together until they start heading out to the cities again, and then it still takes some time before he’s certain that it’s not some trick of his imagination, of the way he still wakes up feeling three inches to the left of his body sometimes.</p>
<p>As far as he can tell, the ghosts he sees are those whose deaths were related to the philosopher’s stones somehow. </p>
<p>It’s something he’s selfishly glad for. (<em>Riviere, Cameron, Fiske, Wellesley </em>– he doesn’t need Captain Falman around to recall the entire list even now, has looked up the estimated death tolls when he and Ed had been trying to calculate the circle’s potential, and he shouldn’t need – doesn’t <em>want</em> to know any more than that.)</p>
<p>Because this is Amestris, though, he still sees far more people than he would have anywhere else. Before this he hadn’t even considered the fact that is now glaringly obvious in retrospect: that the reversal of that nationwide circle, improbably effective as it had been given the number of things that could’ve gone wrong, still hadn’t come fast enough for some of the people trapped within it.</p>
<p>That not everyone would’ve been able to survive having their souls ripped from their body and just as forcibly returned. Not many, not nearly as many as there could’ve been, but even one-hundredth of fifty million is still five hundred thousand dead.</p>
<p>Al has to try very hard not to be sick, after that realisation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As with most things, though, it’s not all bad.</p>
<p>“Call me Maes!” cajoles the half-transparent form loitering around his own gravesite. “I’m dead, you saved the country, there’s no need to be so formal.”</p>
<p>Al crosses his arms, and meets Hughes’ look straight-on. “No.”</p>
<p>(Logically speaking he shouldn’t be able to win this stare-off, seeing as being dead is a fairly effective cure for the need to blink, but it takes more than a few years of not inhabiting a living body to forget these sorts of essential functions. Ask Al how he knows.)</p>
<p>“Or at least just Hughes.” The pout isn’t any more effective when seen at eye level instead of from several feet up, though it <em>is</em> a novel perspective. Hughes brightens infinitesimally, apparently mistaking interest for capitulation. “Maybe Uncle Hughes?” </p>
<p>Ed, Winry, or even Hawkeye would’ve been able to correct that misconception, but Al supposes that Hughes isn’t to blame here; this is the first time he’s seeing Al out of the armour, after all. “Hang around your grave often, <em>Brigadier General </em>Hughes?”</p>
<p>Hughes sighs dramatically, though at least he stops short of flopping over his gravestone. “No, actually. Just figured this’d be the easiest spot to catch you, and people tend not to be terribly bothered by one-sided conversations in cemeteries anyway.”</p>
<p>Al graciously doesn’t point out that he’s already thoroughly desensitised to odd looks given the whole six-foot suit of armour thing. “And you heard about me from – what, the ghost grapevine?”</p>
<p>“Once Intel, always Intel,” Hughes answers sagely. “You’re a good person, Alphonse. People don’t need to be alive to remember that.”</p>
<p>Al can’t help the way his gaze drops to where he knows the inscription would be if the man himself hadn’t been obscuring it: <em>Maes Hughes, 1885–1914</em>. “I haven’t done much. Just… talked to some of them, helped them with stuff where I could. I haven’t really told anyone, though, so.”</p>
<p>“You’d be surprised to find that listening <em>is</em> enough a lot of the time, if done in the right way. Ask Roy to tell you about his mother sometime,” he adds, leaving Al to blink in confusion as he barrels on. “You’re <em>quite</em> sure I can’t recruit you for Intel?”</p>
<p>“No thank you,” Al demurs. “Brother’s officially retired now, as I’m sure you know, and it’d make things awkward with going to Xing anyway.”</p>
<p>“<em>Xing!</em>” Hughes repeats, sounding equal parts intrigued and scandalised. “My, what <em>have</em> you been up to, Alphonse Elric?”</p>
<p>“It was mostly Brother’s fault.” Which is even true, sort of, but Al decides a change of topic is in order before Hughes makes him start recounting from <em>so I found a prince in a dumpster once.</em> “Anyway, there’s actually something I wanted to ask you.”</p>
<p>The smile doesn’t fade from Hughes’ face, though his gaze sharpens behind those glasses. “I’m all ears.”</p>
<p>Al inhales, holds, then lets the breath go; it’s a trick that’s come in useful now he’s got his body back, even though Mei (who he’d fortunately had the foresight <em>not</em> to mention alongside Xing) had originally taught it to him as part of sensing the Dragon Pulse. “What did the military do with Nina? Is she buried somewhere?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I made sure of that myself.” Hughes’ eyes have softened at the corners, in a way that would’ve made Ed bristle like a wet cat if he were here (and able to see him). It’s why Al doesn’t notice the shrewdly foreboding glint until it’s too late. “As for the location, though… you said you haven’t told anyone, right? So I’ll cut you a deal. You tell someone – and <em>not</em> some random stranger off the street, mind you – about all this, and I’ll tell you where.”</p>
<p>Al remembers to stifle his laugh at the last minute; cemetery, right. “I thought only alchemists did equivalent exchange?”</p>
<p>Hughes doesn’t bother hiding his burst of amusement. “Must’ve been hanging around Roy too much, then. It’s catching.”</p>
<p>“I could always ask Major Hawkeye instead,” Al points out, and Hughes doesn’t call his bluff aloud but it’s clear that he’s not as oblivious to Al’s expressions as it might’ve seemed.</p>
<p>He’s right, anyway; you didn’t need to be keeping up very closely with the news to know that Major General Mustang’s team had to be busy enough that Al would never consider bothering them with a request like this, not when he can easily imagine the amount of red tape surrounding the Tucker case (and <em>especially</em> not when he knows they’d be prepared to wrestle through all that if he or Brother ever put in a serious request).</p>
<p>Hughes is still waiting patiently when Al resurfaces from his thoughts. “Deal?”</p>
<p>“Deal,” Al agrees, giving in to the inevitable, then figures that he might as well ask. “Is there anything I can do for you, in the meantime? We’re visiting Ms Gracia and Elicia tomorrow.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>#me: can we just like. cut al a break #also me: *knocks gavel* no.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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